


Secondary

by sciencefictioness



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Amputation, Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Blood, Gore, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 14:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19907572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: It’s a pinky finger, a little smaller than Gabriel’s own, the end ragged where it’s been severed from someone’s hand.  The cut isn’t clean; jagged flesh.  Splintered bone.  The nail is bitten down to nothing, cuticles gnawed at and torn.Old habits die hard, Gabriel supposes.  Especially in foxholes.There’s a letter inked into the skin, just above where the knuckle should be; a ‘k’ written in the shaky, greenish-black of a shitty stick and poke tattoo.  Vodka and ashes and someone’s old rusty sewing needle.He should have known better, even then.There’s blood smeared on Gabriel’s fingertips, now.  He flexes his jaw, and very deliberately resists the urge to clench his hand into a fist.He thinks of Jesse’s fingers, Jesse’s palms.  How they only ever hesitate on Gabriel’s skin, and nowhere else.  How sure they are on his gun, on his belt, on the brim of his hat; steady and unwavering.Gabriel thinks about knives, and syringes, and closes his eyes.





	Secondary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [halfcharacter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfcharacter/gifts).



> Written for a discord exchange event. Mind the tags, and Mei, I hope you enjoy! <3

The first of the messages comes wrapped in a bandana, gore hidden in the folds. The bandana, the skin, Gabriel’s vision.

Everything is red, red, red. The fabric is laid out on the table in front of him, a darker patch of crimson in the center, still damp to the touch. 

It’s a pinky finger, a little smaller than Gabriel’s own, the end ragged where it’s been severed from someone’s hand. The cut isn’t clean; jagged flesh. Splintered bone. The nail is bitten down to nothing, cuticles gnawed at and torn.

Old habits die hard, Gabriel supposes. Especially in foxholes.

There’s a letter inked into the skin, just above where the knuckle should be; a ‘k’ written in the shaky, greenish-black of a shitty stick and poke tattoo. Vodka and ashes and someone’s old rusty sewing needle.

He should have known better, even then.

There’s blood smeared on Gabriel’s fingertips, now. He flexes his jaw, and very deliberately resists the urge to clench his hand into a fist.

He thinks of Jesse’s fingers, Jesse’s palms. How they only ever hesitate on Gabriel’s skin, and nowhere else. How sure they are on his gun, on his belt, on the brim of his hat; steady and unwavering.

Gabriel thinks about knives, and syringes, and closes his eyes. 

-

The second one comes in another bandana, this one in garish Deadlock yellow. Gabriel wonders for a delirious moment if this bandana was Jesse’s, too. Jesse’s old clothes. Jesse’s old ink.

It’s a ‘c’ this time, the bottom of the letter savaged by someone’s clumsy knife work. Someone who doesn’t know their way around a blade; Gabriel could do better.

Jesse could do better.

It’s his ring finger, and Gabriel was never gonna put anything there, but it’s his all the same. Not just something they carved off of Jesse.

Something of his; something of  _ Gabriel’s. _

The blood is more obvious here, and there is more of it. The nail is missing entirely, like they pulled it off with pliers before they moved on to the main event. The ransom they’re asking for is ambitious to say the least, but either way it isn’t Gabriel’s call.

Overwatch doesn’t negotiate with gangsters and terrorists.

Blackwatch doesn’t negotiate, period. Jesse’s team is ready to roll out on a moment’s notice, geared up with transports on standby, waiting for Gabriel to say the word. They know who they’re dealing with, but they don’t have a location.

Someone cut Jesse’s dermal implant out of his neck.

Jesse is all alone somewhere, tied to a chair, some worthless fuck taking him piece by piece. Someone Gabriel wouldn’t waste a shell on, before.

Now he just  _ wants  _ to use his hands. Wants to watch them fight it, listen to them beg. Feel them struggling for air, then go slowly still, until there’s nothing but glassy eyes and a slack jaw. He doesn’t personally go out on a lot of missions these days, but Gabriel’s going on this one.

Blackwatch never leaves a man behind, but even if they did,  _ Gabriel  _ doesn’t. Not this one, anyway.

He’s gonna get his boy. He’s gonna bring him home.

-

They’re getting closer. Breaking through whatever black market, back alley bullshit Deadlock has been using to hide themselves. The knowledge does nothing to calm him down.

Not when all four of Jesse’s fingers are sitting in cold storage in the medbay, L-O-C-K in some meth head’s childlike scrawl. They’re filthy— dirt and dried blood and something that looks like oil. Gabriel had the manic, overwhelming urge to wash them as they arrived one by one. Scrub away the grime until they were clean again, like that would help somehow.

Gabriel has pressed his mouth to those letters. Traced over them with his fingertips. Felt them tangled in his hair.

It’s only in context that the chunk of meat they get next makes any sense.

They severed what was left of Jesse’s hand at the wrist. It arrives wrapped in a Blackwatch shirt, Jesse’s comm link tucked in beside it, along with another note. More demands, more ultimatums. Gabriel doesn’t read it.

If they’re trying to extract information they’re wasting their time. Jesse will die before he tells them what they want to hear. Will let them take his arm, his other hand, his legs, his teeth.

Will take a bullet to the head before he gives up anything that might put his squad at risk. Part of Gabriel is terrified— he trained this into Jesse. Planted those seeds of loyalty that have taken root, until nothing can tear them free. 

Not fists, not knives. No one in Deadlock is capable of reaching deep enough. Part of Gabriel is terrified.

Part of him is  _ proud.  _ He thinks of the way Jesse looked after finishing his resistance training— bruised and beaten down with blood in his teeth.

Smiling at Gabriel.

_ That’s my boy. _

Genji has been sharpening his katana for days, it feels like. Gabriel breaks down his shotguns. Cleans them, oils them, puts them back together. The motions are lulling; something he could do blindfolded, or in his sleep. Gabriel finds solace in it, the unfeeling mechanics of destruction.

Finds comfort in having a weapon he’s honed and cared for under his hands. 

Jesse is so far away.

An alert pings in his ear, and he’s on his feet before O’Deorain is finished talking. Jesse’s crew is already there, lingering on the edges of the control room. Josiah has a detonator in pieces on the floor. Serafin is leaning against the wall in one corner, tossing a knife into the air and watching it twirl before catching it again. 

“Holliday squad, on me,” he says, and doesn’t check to make sure they’re following him as he leaves the room.

Fio is in the pilot’s seat of the transport, eyes on fire and jaw set like stone.

Gabriel rubs his thumb back and forth over the stock of one of his shotguns, and settles in to wait.

-

Gabriel finds Jesse in an abandoned mechanic shop, his hand chained to a metal pole in the center of the room. There are shackles on his ankles. His nose looks broken, eyes black on either side, lips caked with dried blood. Someone has tied a makeshift tourniquet just above his elbow, and he’s curled up on the floor. White as a ghost, except where he’s streaked in lurid red, or shades of black and blue. Naked with his hair matted against his face, so still it makes Gabriel’s chest ache.

Terrifyingly still.

An unsettling calm falls over Gabriel as he pictures himself carrying Jesse’s body back to the transport. Holding his hand, just for a moment. Pressing their foreheads together, and then covering him with a sheet. 

If Gabriel has to put Jesse in the ground every last Deadlock is going with him, no matter how long it takes.

He kneels down next to Jesse. Gabriel pulls him into his lap a little, lays a palm on his cheek. Runs his thumb over Jesse’s mouth— his hands aren’t shaking, even if it feels like they should.

They never shake anymore.

He’s burning up with fever, soaked in sweat, and something in Gabriel eases. Dead bodies don’t feel like this— Jesse is warm. Pliant like he always is in Gabriel’s arms, even if it’s so much worse this time.

“Jesse, hey, hey. Wake up for me baby, please. Jesse, come on.” His hands don’t shake, but his voice does, just barely.

Something only Jesse would catch.

Gabriel watches Jesse’s eyes rove blindly behind his lids before he blinks them open. Slow, and dazed, like he’s swimming up from miles underneath himself. Jesse opens his mouth and makes a guttural noise, turning into Gabriel as best he can. He tries to reach for Gabriel— fist a hand in his clothes, probably— but his wrist is still chained and it catches, and pulls.

“G… Gabe, I didn’t…” Jesse cuts himself off with a whine, then shivers all over. It’s a hundred and eight degrees, and Gabriel is about to overheat, SEP be damned. Jesse keeps trembling against him. 

“Shhh, hey, it’s okay. Don’t talk right now. I got you.” Gabriel holds him closer, and taps at his comm link. “I got him. Area’s clear. Moreno I need you on me, ASAP.”

Serafin can pick these locks fast, and Gabriel wants Jesse out of them right the fuck now. Jesse shakes his head, tucking his face into Gabriel’s chest, lips moving silently for a few moments before he manages to make any sound.

“I- I… I didn’t tell them nothin’, boss. I swear I didn’t.”

Gabriel closes his eyes, and breathes. Sinks his fingers into Jesse’s filthy hair. Leans down and presses a kiss to his temple, and wishes he could tell Jesse it was okay, don’t worry about that, it doesn’t matter.

It does matter, though. 

Jesse stayed strong. Let them cut through his skin and bones. Bled out onto oil stained concrete, and not for Blackwatch.

For Gabriel.

Jesse stayed strong for him, and it matters.

“I know, baby. You did so good. I’m proud of you.”

Jesse nods. Whimpers like it hurts, then goes still, every breath rattling and labored.

Serafin shows up, takes a long moment to look at Jesse, and then sits down and gets to work.

Gabriel carries him to the transport, and takes him home.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Tell me nice things or come yell at me on [twitter!](itter.com/scifictioness?lang=en)


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